


We All Gotta Die Someday, Right?

by JamOnToast



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Multi, The BAU Team as Family (Criminal Minds)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:27:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29883180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamOnToast/pseuds/JamOnToast
Summary: You served with Frank and Billy for years, but left them to join the BAU several years before everything went wrong. What happens when the BAU get called in to profile the newest vigilante in New York City - ‘The Punisher’ - and you realise that it’s one of your oldest and closest friends?
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Reader, Billy Russo/Reader, Frank Castle/Reader





	1. Quantico, 2014

**Author's Note:**

> also posted on my tumblr @pumpkin-stars

It’s just another day at the BAU. That’s what you tell yourself as you enter the bullpen a few minutes after Aaron, one of his shirts covering your torso after a night at his place following a too-long case and a lack of clean clothes in your go bag.

Maybe next time you’d take him up on his offer of leaving some things there, make the nerves settle a little bit... stop any chance of being teased for showing up in his clothes. (But  _ shit _ this one is so soft you’re tempted to keep it forever).

It’s just another day at the BAU. It’s not the first time you’ve come to work “after” Aaron, sitting in his car for a couple of minutes longer each morning, fixing the make up he’s already ruined (twice) by kissing you over breakfast (Jack’s protests going ignored) and again as he leaves the car. It’s been a year of this. The team knows - of course they know - but Strauss would have your heads if she ever found out, so you’re still determined to keep the relationship on the down low for the foreseeable.

It’s just another day at the BAU. You’re sitting at your desk working through various files and reports, and it’s a totally normal day. Aaron’s door  _ isn’t _ shut tight, his blinds  _ aren’t _ closed, and you  _ can _ see him working on his own paperwork...

“Hey Y/N.”

It’s Spencer, coffee mug already in hand. He sits at his desk, reorganises everything in front of him, sighs at the four extra files that weren’t there late last night - all from Derek.

It’s not a normal day at the BAU.

“What’s Hotch doing?” He asks you.

You don’t know. The last time his office was so closed off like that, JJ was forced to leave the team. None of you want to think about what it might mean now.

The rest of the team arrives over the next twenty minutes, everyone crowding around your desk as it gives the best view of Hotch’s office (something you’ve both taken advantage of more than once).

Nobody knows what’s happening.

Blake is the first to notice movement (it’s been twelve minutes and thirty seven seconds since you all started watching the room, according to Spencer) - the door handle moves slightly and the team scatters, you turn back to your paperwork, not even realising that the file is upside down.

Hotch pokes his head out, calls “Y/L/N,” and gestures for you to join him.

Did Strauss find out? It’s too early in the morning to deal with that...

You steady yourself with a sigh then walk to his office, ignoring the curious looks from the rest of the team.

There’s a question in your eyes, a tiny furrow in your brow that you know Aaron can see. His face is blank, giving nothing away to anyone, except, as you reach him, and after three years working with him, you can spot hints of sadness and confusion in his eyes. He welcomes you into his office and you pause just inside the door.

There are two men standing to greet you, one rather young and amiable, the other older, harsh, every bit of him shouting out  _ don’t fuck with me _ as he stands silent.

You know him.

“Sir.” You nod to him, back straightening.

“Agent Y/L/N.” There’s a smile. It’s sinister. “It’s lovely to see you again.”

_ Asshole. _

Hotch is surprised but the other men don’t pick up on it. He doesn’t know what to think as he watches the interaction. He sees your posture change, any emotion you had on your face disappear... You’re standing at attention for this man, forcing yourself not to show any weakness in front of him...

The only thing running through his mind is  _ what the fuck do the CIA want with Y/N? _

“How can I help you, gentlemen?” You ask, keeping your eyes on the older man. You’ve played enough of his stupid games to know he won’t begin the conversation. You’ll have to ask him everything and he’ll only give you the answers he chooses. He’s in control, in charge, he’s running this conversation and he knows it.

He doesn’t even have to say a word.

“There’s a classified mission.” The friendly-looking agent begins, and you notice that he’s just as nervous around his boss as you’re trying not to be. “You’ve worked with some of the other participants in the past and we think you’ll be useful.”

“Useful?” Hotch frowns.

The three of you ignore him, you can’t afford to look at him. If you turn to him, even so much as glance at him, then these agents will know that he’s not just your unit chief. You can’t afford  _ him _ knowing that.

“We’re told the four of you worked well as a team.” The young agent continues, “We need you.”

“What’s the mission?” You ask. Simple, emotionless, to the point.

The older agent scoffs, “We can’t disclose that in such a public space.”

You don’t need to glance at Hotch to see his affronted expression. There aren’t many places  _ less _ public than his office.

“Location?” You ask instead.

“International.” The younger agent takes over again.

“How long?”

“You’ll be required to serve a year minimum, after that you can choose to continue.”

“Or return?” Hotch raises a solitary eyebrow.

The agent clears his throat and you’re suddenly reminded of Anderson in the  _ eager to please but terrified to mess up _ kind of way he holds himself. “Yes.”

“Start date?”

“Ship out tomorrow night.”

Your mask breaks at that, jaw clenching and nostrils flaring at the _ late fucking notice  _ they’ve given you. That’s just enough time to pack your bags, barely enough time to say goodbye to the team. Almost no time at all to apologise to Aaron and Jack for leaving them for so long.

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”

That sinister smile reappears. “The information you need is in this file. See you tomorrow, Agent.”

You take it from him, nodding once. “Sir.”

They leave then, striding through the bullpen and staring at your friends - your family - judging them, watching them,  _ profiling _ them as they go.

_ Bastards _ .

“Y/N?” Hotch breaks the silence.

You turn your head to him, the rest of you still ramrod straight, hackles raised. He steps towards you, and it takes his hands on your shoulders to relax you, a deep breath leaving your lungs as your body catches up with your mind - he’s gone.

For now.

“Who was he? He never gave me his name.” He prompts you.

You shake your head dumbly, “I only know his code name.” Your eyes meet for a moment before you turn away, “Can you get the team in the conference room? I should probably say goodbye.”

“Y/N...”

“ _ Please _ , Aaron.” It’s the use of his name that makes him move. In all the time you’ve been together you’ve made it a point to always call him Hotch at work... so he knows that this request isn’t about leaving the team for a year. This is about saying goodbye to your family for too long. This is about giving them - and him - the opportunity to see you off properly, in a way that they didn’t get with JJ or Emily.

He nods at you, squeezes your shoulders in a show of support before he leaves the room, striding towards the conference room with a twitch of his fingers, the gesture prompting the rest of the team to move, all curious and nervous about what they were about to be told.

You take a moment, setting the folder on Hotch’s desk to flick through quickly, cursing the day you ever met Agent Orange, and hoping to whichever god was listening that you’d survive whatever  _ Kandahar _ had in store.


	2. Somewhere, 2010.

It’s just another day. You’re woken by jeers and laughter only a few hours after you finally got to sleep, but that’s normal now. Getting 143 minutes of sleep in one go is actually pretty good these days, but it doesn’t stop you from grabbing the pillow from under your head and swinging it out behind you, letting it go to soar through the air until it almost-perfectly collided with its intended target.

“Jeez, I’d say you got outta the wrong side’a the bed, but you’re still in it.” He laughs, waiting until you sit up before he flings the pillow back to you, hitting you square in the back of the head.

“I’d still be asleep if it wasn’t for you fuckers.” You grumble, barely hiding a smile as he moves to sit beside you. “You got a reason for waking me up or are you just a bunch of dicks?”

“There’s always a reason, Sweets.” He nudges you with his shoulder, earning an eye roll and a sigh. You hate the nickname - it’s the only reason they keep calling you it (and you’ll never tell any of them that it’s growing on you). If you hadn’t almost been kicked out during basic training for punching the superior officer who dared to call you sweetheart, you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t have been called it all. “Twenty minutes.”

“More like eighteen.” He’s corrected by a drawl and dark eyes that glance at you both from over the edge of a book. “Took more than normal to wake you.”

You grumble, stand from the shitty camp bed, stretching in an effort to remove the remnants of sleep from your bones. You push Frank from the mattress, and he falls forward easily, comically, earning a round of laughter from the other two men in the room and another semi-amused eye roll from you. You move round the edge of the bed to sit at the foot, pulling your boots onto your sock-clad feet, swearing under your breath at the laces as they tangle round your fingers, sleep-deprivation not helping you out in the least.

There’s a hand on top of yours then, those dark eyes staring up at you, crinkled with a smirk as he ties your shoes for you, like you’re some toddler incapable of dressing yourself. Frank’s back on your bed behind you, helping you get your arms through the uniform shirt, name emblazoned over your breast in block capitals. Then there’s a protein bar in front of your face, kind hand on your shoulder, and you smile up at the fourth member of your little group.

“Thanks, Curt.”

He nods in reply, handing Frank one too, then waiting a moment for Billy to finish with your shoes before handing one to him.

“Twelve.” Billy comments offhandedly, unwrapping his breakfast as he moves back to his bed. It earns a groan, none of you wanting to be awake already. You’re pretty sure he’s not slept yet - judging by the page he’s got up to since you last saw him reading right as you were falling asleep, you’re certain. It’s not healthy - but none of you can say you’re at your peak.

Five minutes pass as the four of you collect yourselves, brace for whatever shit you’ll get into today, work through your good luck rituals and send silent ‘ _ love you _ ’s to your families. Well, Frank and Curt do. Billy’s got no family except the three of you, and you’re not exactly close enough to any of them anymore.

Someone enters briefly, passing Curt a handful of paper which he distributes easily - letters to Frank, mainly. One from Maria, one from Lisa, a little hand-drawn scribble from Frankie Jr. enclosed. Curtis gets one too - whatever girlfriend he’s promised to come home to asking if it’ll be any time soon. There’s nothing for Billy. But there is one for you.

You open it, blinking at the contents for a moment before they register in your mind, “Fuck.”

“What?” The men chorus, staring at you curiously.

“I’m getting out.” You don’t dare look at them, “I got the job.”

“The FBI?” Curtis checks.

You nod.

“What job?” Billy asks, and you look to him, the brown of his eyes even blacker than usual.

“I told you I wanted out, Bill.” You shrug, “I never thought I’d get it so I didn’t tell you.”

“But you told Curt?” He scoffs, “ _ and _ Frank?”

“They walked in while I was filling in the forms.” You excuse.

“You were takin’ a dump.” Frank clarified.

“So y’just tell me like this?” He frowns.

“You’d rather I not tell you at all? You come back for the next tour and have no idea why I’m not here?” You smile, “At least this way you might get some letters.”

“Alright, alright,” he scoffs, “You send me the typa pictures Maria sends Frankie an’ I might not be so pissed.”

“Not happening, Russo.” You grin, “You’ve seen me naked plenty of times, you don’t need pictures.”

“I’ve seen Frankie and Curt too, that don’t mean I wanna think about them when I knock one out.”

“Knock one out?” Curtis scoffs.

“Yknow I never took Billy the Beaut to be such a romantic,” Frank cuffs him round the head.

Billy ducks away from him, setting his book down and offering you a hand, “When’d you leave us then, Sweets?”

“This tour’s my last.” You shrug, letting him pull you up. “So fuck knows.”

~~~

It takes about another month, but the four of you finally make it home in one piece. Frank goes off with Maria and the kids as soon as he sees them in the airport, promises to meet the following morning at the carousel going unsaid. It’s tradition now - at least for you and Billy. Curtis spends the entirety of the first three days home attached to his girl. But you and Billy have nothing better to do in the daytime than spend an afternoon with your found family. Not that the Castle’s are gonna know that you both plan on spending the night together too.

You’ve got a week before you have to move to DC for the foreseeable, complete the basic physical and mental training, and then get scooped up by whichever unit wants you. And in that week you’re determined to spend as much time with your buddies as you can. There’s no telling when you’ll get time to see them again, but you’re damn sure that you’ll make time whenever you can.

For now though, you and Billy crash through the door to his apartment, the dust kept away by Maria’s careful hands, fridge stocked with a few beers and microwaveable dinners, fresh sheets ready and waiting. Your apartment will have the same treatment, the woman is truly a godsend, but you don’t care about that until morning. Your packs are thrown down, and Billy’s lips are on yours within a second of the door being locked. It’s the first time you’ve had a real moment alone together since the last time you were home. Masturbation only gets you so far (and giving handjobs in the communal showers isn’t something you like to advertise when you’re surrounded by egotistical men).

“Fuck, I’m gonna make you wish you weren’t leaving.” He groans into your mouth.

“I’m gonna be here as soon as you’re back, Billy.” You assure him, hand trailing down to his pants.

He pushes you towards the couch. Sure the bed’s more comfortable, but it’s been a while, and neither of you really cares where you do it right now.

~~~

A week later and you’re in Quantico, taking your firearms exam in the range in the basement. It’s kinda pointless - you’ve been handling weapons for years now, you’re totally capable of firing a glock at a target in close range, and using a rifle from a whole street away. But the Bureau have to check that you’re up to their standards, so you go through the motions, acing every shot.

As you pull off your earmuffs and plastic goggles, you turn to your assessor, and find another man behind him.

“Agent Y/L/N.” The tall, surly, dark haired man greets you. “I’m Agent Hotchner, your new Unit Chief.”

“What unit’s that, Sir?”

“The BAU.”


End file.
